
Class _J. 
BooklEL 



Copyright N?_ 






COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



LYRIC LEAVES FROM 
A KHAKI NOTEBOOK 



BY 

VANCE C. CRISS 

Formerly of the 2$th Company, 20th Regiment Engineers 
(Forestry), A.E.F. 




BOSTON 
RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 



Copyright, 1920, by Vance C. Criss 
All Rights Reserved 



**& 









Made in the United States of America 



The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 



©CI.A570201 



THERE IS BUT ONE PERSON TO WHOM A MAN 
SHOULD DEDICATE HIS FIRST VENTURE IN THE 
FIELD OF LITERARY ENDEAVOR. THEREFORE, 

AS SOME SLIGHT RECOGNITION OF ALL HER 
INTEREST, HER ENCOURAGEMENT, AND HER 
HOPES HAVE MEANT, THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED 
TO 

MY MOTHER 



FOREWORD 

It would be folly, indeed, to submit this little 
volume as an addition to the literature of poesy. 
There may be, however, an interest in the verses 
as sidelights on army experiences, from the stand- 
point of a man in the ranks. If, at times, the feet 
are clumsy and the meter awkward, pray recall 
that one may not easily woo the Muse amid the 
distractions of a barrack, the wearisome journey 
of a troop train, the discomforts of a rain-soaked 
tent, the annoyances of a barn-loft billet, or the 
revelry of a roadside cafe. And under such con- 
ditions, these verses were written. The first ten 
poems — if that term be not too dignified — were 
written in the States. The others were written 
in France, most of them among the Vosges moun- 
tains, not far from the boundary beyond which so 
recently beckoned the "lost Alsace." 

V. c. c. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

That Billboard Soldier Man n 

Forgotten Phrases 13 

A Soldier's Boudoir Song 14 

Petticoat Propaganda 15 

The Moocher 16 

Orderly O'Brien 17 

The Guy Who Knows It All 19 

The Lovelorn Rookie's Vow 21 

In Quarantine 23 

Back at the Old Sansone 25 

In th' Engineers 27 

Evening 29 

Bas de Soie 3° 

Visions Of Home 32 

Toujours le Meme 34 

The Plaint of the Engineers 36 

Avec Une Mademoiselle 37 

Th' Hills O' Ole Missou 38 

Telephone Tribulation 40 

C'Est Ca 42 

The Girl Over There 44 

7 



Contents 

PAGE 

The Camouflaged Q. M 46 

Alabam 47 

Missing 49 

Just A Little Lace 50 

The Eternal Question 51 

Those Wooden Shoes 52 

The Days Of Long Ago 53 

The Roughneck 54 

Blesse 55 

The Opportunist 56 

When the General Came To Town .... 57 

Service Stripes 60 

The Cause Of It All 61 

They Went Up The Line With A Smile .... 63 

The Battle of Brouvelieures 65 

Ode to the "Burned Area" 67 

The Landsman's Lament 66 

Th' Sweetes' Gal 70 

Le Grand Desir 71 



LYRIC LEAVES FROM 
A KHAKI NOTEBOOK 



THAT BILLBOARD SOLDIER MAN 

I seen a billboard picture 
Ov a dressed-up soldier man, 
Who wuz lookin' 'bout ez purty 
Ez a swell-dressed feller can. 

He had on a suit o' khaki, 
An' it fit him jus' like fun; 
While acrost his brawny shoulders 
Wuz a dandy-lookin' gun. 

Oh, his heels wuz right t'gether, 
An' he stood up powerful straight; 
All th' gals'd go plumb crazy, 
If he'd ask 'em fer a date. 

On each side, Ole Glory wavin' 
Wuz a-floatin' mighty proud; 
An' in front a cannon firin' 
Seemed a-roarin' big an' loud. 

At th' bottom wuz some printin', 
Where it tol' about th' pay, 
An' th' chances fer t' travel, 
In th' countries fer away. 
ii 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 

While I stood there jus' a-gazin', 
That big picture looked s' fine, 
That it sort o' made me wobbly — 
Like this fancy, fizzlin' wine. 

So I didn't wait much longer — 
An' it's mighty proud I am, 
That I'll soon be forward -marchin' 
In th' ranks ov Uncle Sam. 



12 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



FORGOTTEN PHRASES 

Three words I used to know right well, 
And how to use them too; 
But in the army, truth to tell, 
I fear their day is through. 

They served me well in early days, 
When favors I must ask, 
And helped me on in countless ways, 
No matter what the task. 

But now I've cast all three aside, 
As needless waste of breath ; 
In army life I find they died 
A quick and painless death. 

Forgotten is the lesson learned 
So long ago, at Mother's knees; 
And yet quite often have I yearned 
To hear again "thank you" and "please." 



13 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



A SOLDIER'S BOUDOIR SONG 

I'm learning to sleep as a soldier should, 

And rest between blankets I'm rinding quite good; 

And yet I must say, 

Without further delay, 
There are things I would change if I could. 

Some springs, without doubt, would help out quite 

a lot, 
Yet he who is weary will find, like as not, 

That Morpheus kind 

In slumber will bind 
The eyes of the man on a cot. 

And this you will find is no falsehood, indeed, 
For other bedclothing in vain you may plead ; 

Yet in truth be it said, 

Ere astray you are led, 
For an eiderdown pillow, there's truly no need. 

One garment, however, I'm still longing for, 
Tho' my bed be a cot, or a space on the floor; 

And no telling how glad 

I should be if I had 
The initialed pajamas I once proudly wore. 



H 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



PETTICOAT PROPAGANDA 

I reckon I ain't able 
T' take a single stitch ; 
An' honest, I ain't posted 
On petticoats an' sich. 

An' yet it was surprising 
A-readin' in y'ur note, 
That you was busy workin' 
On a shore-nuff petticoat. 

With Teddy-bears an' knickers, 
An' pettibockers, too, 
I 'lowed th' day o' petticoats 
Was just about clean through. 

Now surely you'll quit makin' 
That garment "out o' sight," — 
An' then, without delayin', 
Take time enough t' write. 



15 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



THE MOOCHER 

His wants are many, 
His possessions are few; 
He hasn't a penny 
To pay his way through — 
The moocher. 

He hasn't the makings 
Of one cigarette; 
With him, it's all takings 
For all he can get — 
The moocher. 

He gets all his chewing 
The very same way, 
By constantly strewing 
His promise to pay — 
The moocher. 

Forever he's asking 
Whatever he wants; 
And always he's basking 
In decent men's haunts — 
The moocher. 

I hope by tomorrow 
He'll wear his last wreath, 
For trying to borrow 
My brush for his teeth — 
The moocher. 
16 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



ORDERLY O'BRIEN 

Hold th' pace that you're a-goin', 
Ain't no chance at all o' slowin', 
'Cause your stop'll shore be showin', 
An' th' captain, he'll be knowin', 
So it's speed — speed — speed — 
Is your need — need — need — 
Lyle O'Brien. 

Never take a chance on balkin', 
An' there ain't no time for gawkin', 
'Cause th' cap'll keep you walkin', 
By his steady line o' talkin' — 
So it's go — go — go — 
Don't be slow — slow — slow — 
Lyle O'Brien. 

All th' jobs your way are fallin', 
But no chance at all o' stallin', 
'Cause you'd get an awful callin' 
When th' captain started bawlin', 
So it's hike — hike — hike — 
Never pike— pike — pike — 
Lyle O'Brien. 

On your trail th' bunch is lurkin', 
For a chance t' catch you shirkin'; 
17 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 

An' it's you they'll be a-jerkin' 
'Fore th' captain for not workin', 
So it's hep — hep — hep — 
With th' pep — pep — pep — 
Lyle O'Brien. 

Oh, you never can be lazy 
But your mind is gettin' hazy; 
If you don't turn up plumb crazy, 
You're a ring-tail roarin' daisy — 
Better pray — pray — pray — 
On your way — way — way — 
Lyle O'Brien. 



18 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



THE GUY WHO KNOWS IT ALL 

No matter what you talk about, 
From science down to pains of gout, 
On subjects light or subjects deep, 
If you're awake or you're asleep, 
You want to cry or want to smile, 
You'll find him talking all the while. 

On sacred themes he's posted well; 
And all you ask, he'll gladly tell, 
Of faults he finds in all the creeds, 
Or talk at length on social needs, 
Convinced his efforts surely show 
There's not a fact he doesn't know. 

Or if the theme be statesmanship, 
A ready answer's on his lip, 
Explaining why each leader proves 
A bungler in all statecraft moves; 
From low to high, each one he grills, 
Tells how he'd cure the nation's ills. 

Discussing war, he's sure some bear; 
Of ev'ry move he's quite aware, 
Knows where each army is right now, 
Just what it's doing in the row; 
Each point he takes, he'll loud defend, 
From cause of war to date of end. 
19 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



His tongue is always on the go; 
He's bound to be the whole blamed show, 
And naught but death can ever balk 
His one desire for constant talk. 
How DID he hear his country's call, 
When never known to listen at all? 



20 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



THE LOVELORN ROOKIE'S VOW 

I 'lowed she'd feel right proud-like, 
When she heerd I'd gone t' war, 
So I writ her quite a letter, 
Tellin' that — an' then some more. 

Then I started in a-longin', 
An' a-waitin' her reply; 
But they warn't no answer comin', 
While th' days went creepin' by. 

By an' by I give up hopin', 
Feelin' shore she'd turned me down, 
When at last there come her letter 
From that little ole home town. 

But it warn't no love epissel, 
From a tender throbbin' heart, 
What'd start me in a-sighin' 
'Cause th' war clouds made us part. 

She jus' 'lowed she'd been right busy, 
With her cookin' work an' sich — 
An' expressed a hope I'd finish 
This here war without a hitch. 

21 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



When I got plumb through a-readin', 
I was shore a-feelin* blue; 
An' it left me mighty doubtful 
On decidin' what t' do. 

But my mind is now plumb settled, 
An' I'll be a hero shore; 
Then she'll want me fer a lover — 
But they ain't no chance no more. 



22 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



IN QUARANTINE 

The ambulance stopped at our own barracks' door, 
And out went the buddy the wagon came for, 

Without any scene. 
A bad case of measles, the doctor had said, 
And forthwith he places the whole blooming shed 

In quarantine. 

No more did we live in the land of the free, 
For we were cooped up just as close as could be; 

The fat and the lean 
Were herded together within the four walls, 
With no going out or receiving of calls, 

In quarantine. 

To the mess hall the crowd of us marched in a 

bunch, 
And together returned when we'd finished our lunch 

Of beefstew and bean; 
The whole of us placed on the same blooming terms, 
And shunned by the others as dangerous germs, 

In quarantine. 

In a few magazines, and each one of them old, 
We read all the stories of heroes quite bold; 
Or tried to keep clean 
23 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 

Each piece of our clothing so constantly worn, 
Until the whole outfit was tattered and torn, 
In quarantine. 

No time such as this was can ever be brief, 
When the days drag so slowly and bring no relief; 

Quite true is it seen 
That the hope was expressed, by each one of the 

men, 
That never a one should be caught thus again, 

In quarantine. 



24 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



BACK AT THE OLD SANSONE 

Again I entered "Charley's," 
And sat at a table there; 
A waiter smiled his greeting, 
And gave me the bill of fare. 

I ordered oyster cocktail, 
But that was just a start, 
For one should order slowly, 
If eating be an art. 

A consomme delicious, 
I felt I ought to take; 
And then with hungry vision, 
Wrote next a "sirloin steak." 

Then came some mashed potatoes, 
A bit of apple sauce; 
But not a bean I ordered, 
Nor felt the slightest loss. 

On further careful reading, 
There came beneath my eye 
A line that brought new pleasure, 
The three words, "hot mince pie." 
25 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



The item last selected, 
You'll guess as like as not — 
Some "real and truly" coffee, 
And not a cup, but pot. 

The food was soon before me, 
And Gee, it was a treat; 
But ere I'd had a mouthful, 
I leapt upon my feet. 

A voice quite close beside me 
Yelled out in anger deep, 
"Well, what in hell's the matter! 
Lie down and let me sleep." 

Upon this cry so startling, 
There vanished all my "chow" ; 
That order was a nightmare — 
I'm in the army now. 



26 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



IN TH' ENGINEERS 

(Reprinted from Stars and Stripes) 

If it's work y'u would be doin' — 
Such as ties in need o' hewin' — 
Till y'ur back is just one ruin, 
Join th' Engineers. 

Fall th' trees an' get from under, 
Chute th' logs without a blunder, 
Work th' whole day jus' like thunder, 
In th' Engineers. 

Work like hell a-diggin' ditches, 
Layin' track or settin' switches, 
(An' y'ur pay sure ain't no riches), 
In th' Engineers. 

Even when th' rain is pourin', 
An' y'u hear th' big guns roarin', 
Jus' go right on with y'ur chorin', 
In th' Engineers. 

If y'u hear th' motor hummin', 
On a Boche plane that is comin', 
Don't stop work for fear o' bombin', 
In th' Engineers. 
27 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 

Night time comes, an' things that's creepy, 
In a tent that's sort o' seepy, 
Ain't no bother, y'u're so sleepy, 
In th' Engineers. 

Sometimes, too, y'u may be driven, 
When th' best y'u've got, y'u're givin'- 
Still, th' life is sure worth livin', 
In th' Engineers. 



28 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



EVENING 

The long day draws to a gloomy close, 
With a fog enshrouded sky; 
And the banks of heavy, cheerless clouds, 
On the beech-clad summits lie. 

The winding road, at the mountain's foot, 
Is lifeless in the rain, 
Save where yon peasant slowly plods, 
Beside his ox-drawn wain. 

From lowly cot across the vale, 
A candle's feeble ray 
Would cheer the weary wanderer — 
But home is far away. 



29 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



BAS DE SOIE 

I'm sending, 

Not lending, 
This present to you; 

For wearing, 

Not tearing, 
I hope they will do. 

With gladness, 

Not madness, 
I trust you'll receive 

As pleasant, 

This present, 
Tho' sent without leave. 

No stocking 

Is shocking, 
If kept out of sight; 

And truly 

You'll duly 
Conduct yourself right. 

Bestowing, 

Not knowing, 
Quite taxes one's wit; 

Yet clearly 

Sincerely, 
I trust they will fit. 
30 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 

Believe me, 

Don't grieve me 
For taking this chance. 

Don't tear 'em, 

But wear 'em — 
These stockings from France. 



31 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



VISIONS OF HOME 

When th' rain jus' keeps a-fallin' 

From a sky that's dreary gray, 

A feller can't help thinkin', 

In a longin' sort o' way, 

O' th' home folks 'cross th' ocean, 

In th' good ol' U. S. A. 

On th' walls o' Fancy painted, 
There's a picture he can see, 
O' loved ones there a-prayin', 
With a deep an' heartfelt plea, 
That he'll soon be comin' back there, 
T' th' place he'd like t' be. 

He can see his daddy settin' 
In that same ol' rockin' chair, 
A-readin' in th' papers 
'Bout th' soldiers "over there," 
An' a-trustin' that his boy 
Won't fergit t' do his share. 

An' his sister still is knittin' — 
She commenced when war begun — 
An' a-workin' always gladly 
At a task that can't be done 
Till th' boys come sailin' homeward, 
After victory is won. 
32 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 

At a desk, his mother's writin' 
T' th' lad she holds so dear, 
An' in lines that may be trembly 
From th' mingled hope an' fear; 
An' some sentences is ended 
With no period but a tear. 

When at last th' scene has faded, 
An' th' dream o' home is through, 
He fergits that he was homesick, 
Since th' home folks want him true 
T' th' land for which he's fightin' — 
An' th' ol' Red, White an' Blue. 



33 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



TOUJOURS LE MEME 

(Reprinted from Stars and Stripes and Yanks) 

No matter how wise or how foolish 

The company's cook may be, 
When down at the table we're seated 
Two things we all plainly can see; 
When we look at the chow, 
There's the bosom of sow, 
And beans — beans — beans. 



If quartered in city or country, 

The cook never misses his aim; 
If messing in swamp or on mountain, 
Two things will remain quite the same; 
Tho' it may cause a row, 
We get bosom of sow, 
And beans — beans — beans. 



When tasks for the day are all ended, 

And weary are body and brain, 
Small matter it makes if we're eating 
Indoors or outside in the rain ; 
The cook makes his bow 
With the bosom of sow, 
And beans — beans — beans. 
34 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



Of all that I've learned in the army, 
This fact I am sure I know well— 
And others are certain to tell you — 
A soldier's worst picture of hell 
Is thrice daily chow 
With the bosom of sow, 
And beans — beans — beans. 



15 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



THE PLAINT OF THE ENGINEERS 

I shorely ain't much ov a soldier, 
Er else they would give me a gun — 
Instead ov a pick an' a shovel — 
Fer fightin' agin th' durn Hun. 

I'll ovvn that it shore is some safer, 
Plumb back from that hell-scrappin' line; 
An' yet, jus' a-thinkin' o' safety, 
T' me don't appear very fine. 

There's no chanct at all t' git medals, 
That'll shine mighty bright on y'ur breast, 
When once y'u git back t' th' Homeland, 
An' settle right down fer a rest. 

An' even th' bloomin' ol' papers 
Ain't showin' no picters o' us — 
In some ways, we might ez well be 
A thousand o' miles from th' fuss. 

An' yet I jus' can't help a-thinkin' 

O' what in th' devil we'd do, 

If ever th' durn line busted — 

An' th' damnable Boches got through. 



36 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



AVEC UNE MADEMOISELLE 

Say, kid, you're a pippin, 
And you look darn good to me. 
How in thunder do you say it? 
Oh, yes, Vous etes tres jolie. 

Darn the luck, I wish to thunder 
I knew how to parlez-vous ; 
I'd sure tell you what I'm thinking — 
Gosh, I'll try it. Je vous aime beaucoup. 

Gee, I'd like to hug you. 

What ! You comprends pas? 

I'm the guy that sure can show you, 

Just like this — comme ca. 

What's that lingo you are saying? 
Would I like — what — de vous voir? 
What in thunder ? — Now I get you — 
Sure I'll see you here ce soir. 

What the devil should I call you — 
Chere amie and ma petite? 
I'll find out before this evening, 
And you hurry back toute suite. 

Wait a minute! I'm forgetting — 
Donnez-moi just one baiser. 
Pas compris? Tonight I'll show you 
In the good old Yankee way. 
37 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



TH' HILLS O' OLE MISSOU 

I'll own them hills is rocky, 
An' th' valleys ain't s' wide; 
An' sometimes they're s' barren 
That a rabbit couldn't hide; 
Nor y'u couldn't raise no trouble 
On ten acres, if y'u tried. 

They ain't no Roman soldiers 
Ever marched along them trails ; 
They ain't no chateaus fancy, 
What is built among them vales; 
An' Charlemagne ain't heerd of, 
In their fireside huntin' tales. 

They ain't no roadside crosses, 
Jus' a-standin' thar alone, 
What wuz put up by some sinner, 
Who wuz seekin' t' atone; 
An' they shorely ain't no houses 
Fancy roofed, an' built o' stone. 

Yet they's somethin' that's appealin' 
In them ole rock-covered hills, 
Whar they's happiness an' sunshine, 
What'll drive away your ills ; 
An' th' birds is singin' sweetly, 
T' th' ripplin' o* th' rills. 
38 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



Whar th' pearls jus' dot th' hillsides, 
When th' sun shines on th' dew; 
Whar th' cabin doors is open, 
An' th' hearts o' all is true — 
Oh, it's thar I hear a callin', 
T th' hills o' ole Missou. 



39 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



TELEPHONE TRIBULATION 

There goes that doggone 'phone again! 
I hate to hear that dam bell ring. 
Why the devil should I answer? 
I won't understand a thing. 

Hello! Hello! What in thunder? 
Hold on! I can't parley frog; 
I'm as lost as any stranger 
In a blooming London fog. 

For heaven's sake, talk slower! 
Ne parlez pas si vite! 
Hello ! Yes. — Engineers — 
They've cut us off, by holy Pete. 

Hold on, M'sieu, pas fini! 
Damn you, man, ne coupez pas! 
You've got a truck turned over? 
Pas fini! Ou-la-lah. 

Cut off again, I reckon. — 
You had three piling on? 
She slid?— Hello! Hello! 
Gee whiz, this line's pas bon. 
40 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



Hello! Yes, we can help you. 
It's better if you meet — 
Oh, hell yes, by the culvert — 
Get off that line toute suite. 

Two trucks can surely pull you. 
Yes — yes — I know the place. 
Hello! Oh, hell! Damnation! 
Yes — yes — we'll send a brace. 

Oui, oui, M'sieu, I'm fini — 
And damn such a song and dance. 
I'd rather spend an hour in hell, 
Than telephone in France. 



41 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



C'EST CA 

When th' bugle busts th' silence, 
An' y'u're feelin' mighty sour, 
'Cause y'u've got t' quit y'ur sleepin' 
At a darned unearthly hour — 
C'est la guerre. 



When th' brekfus tastes like hades- 
An' it ain't th' only one — 
With th' spuds s' doggone soapy, 
An' th' bacon not half done — 
Cest la guerre. 



When ol' France fergits she's sunny, 
An' th' rain comes pourin' down, 
An' y'u keep right on a-workin', 
Though y'u're scared t' death y'u'll drown- 
C'est la guerre. 



When th' workin' day is ended, 
An' y'u drink vin rouge beaucoup, 
Till th' whole durn world looks level, 
An' there's nothin' y'u can't do — 
Cest la guerre. 
42 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 

When y'u stumble t' y'ur billet, 
An' y'u tell th' gang y'u're lit ; 
When y'u waller in y'ur blanket, 
An' th' cooties do their bit — 
Cest la guerre. 

An' th' doggone mornin' after, 
When y'u stagger from y'ur bed, 
With a taste that's worse than thunder, 
An' a damn bad achin' head — 
Cest la guerre. 



43 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



THE GIRL OVER THERE 

(Reprinted from Stars and Stripes) 

Let the glasses be filled 

With the rich sparkling wine, 
The blood of the grape 

And the soul of the vine; 
And quaff a rich draught 
Of the nectar divine; — 
To the fairest of fair, 
To the Girl Over There, 
A toast in the vin rouge of France. 

I would travel afoot 

Weary mile upon mile, 
If the end of the road 

Would but lead me erewhile 
To the land of my dreams, 
In the light of her smile — 
To the fairest of fair, 
To the Girl Over There, 
A toast in the vin rouge of France. 

Tho' far, far away, 

Still inspired by Love's ties, 
There is gleaming tonight, 

In the depths of her eyes, 
The bright Light o' Love, 
44 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 

That for me never dies — 
To the fairest of fair, 
To the Girl Over There, 
A toast in the vin rouge of France. 

Ah, much would I give 

For a glimpse of her face ; 
But better bv far, 

Would but Fate have the grace, 
Were a lingering kiss, 
In a lasting embrace — 
To the fairest of fair, 
To the Girl Over There, 
A toast in the vin rouge of France. 

Tho' the sea rolls between, 

My heart still is light, 
For the bright Star o' Love 

Can but lead me aright 
To the Garden of Love, 
But a vision tonight — 
To the fairest of fair, 
To the Girl Over There, 
A toast in the vin rouge of France. 



45 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



THE CAMOUFLAGED Q. M. 

Down the walk he sauntered slowly, 
Like a lord of many lands ; 
And his bearing wasn't lowly — 
Surely fate was in his hands. 

In his uniform expensive, 
That some fancy tailor made, 
He was never apprehensive 
In the swellest dress parade. 

Oh, he surely was a dandy, 
From his shiney "puts" to cap; 
And he knew he was the candy — 
Nor for others gave a rap. 

As he slowly swaggered vainly, 
And I sought to count the stars, 
I was peeved to see quite plainly 
That he hadn't even bars. 

Then I gazed again in wonder, 
Could do nothing but believe, 
For I surely made no blunder — 
Not a chevron on his sleeve. 

As a dude he took the pennant, 
As a four flush made high score — 
He was just a third lieutenant 
In the Quarter Master Corps. 
46 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



ALABAM 

Soljah, somehow Ah ain't feelin' 
Jes as well's Ah ought t'day — 
Dey's shoh somethin' dat's appealin' 
In a town down Mobile way. 

No, sah, Ah ain't off on feedin', 
Tho' dey's some things Ah'd shoh like; 
But it ain't what Ah'm a-needin', 
Dat dey's any chance t' strike. 

You-all knows Ah ain't a-kickin', 
But Ah'd shohly like t' go 
Back dah whah dey's cotton pickin', 
An' dem watahmelons grow. 

Whah de cabin doah is open, 

An' dey's fryin' chickens, too, 

Ef y'u knows jes whah y'u's gropin' — 

An' ezzackly what t' do. 

Whah dey's lots o' juicy peaches, 
An' dem honey locus' trees 
Has a puhfume what shoh reaches 
All de valley on de breeze. 
47 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



Whah mah mammy is a-settin' 
In de sun befoah de doah ; 
An' Ah reckon she's a-frettin' 
'Bout me goin' off t' wah. 

But look heah now, Ah ain't whinin', 
'Cause Ah'm heah foh Uncle Sam ; 
Reckon 's how Ah'm jes a-pinin' — 
Soht o' sick foh Alabam. 



48 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



MISSING 

He was not severely wounded, 
Tho' he had some cause to grieve, 
Since, reported in the missing, 
Was the chevron on his sleeve. 

It was not in fighting Germans 
That brought trouble as his lot; 
And the men who battled with him 
Said he only got half shot. 

But he proved himself too careless, 
And forgot to camouflage, 
When he started going forward 
In a wild champagne barrage. 



49 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



JUST A LITTLE LACE 

This little gift, from far-off France, 
Will serve, I trust, to let you know 
That, spite of Father Time's advance, 
Fond memories ever fonder grow. 

Just what it's for, I cannot say, 
For what I know of such is slight; 
Perhaps to all you may display 
Its use — perhaps keep out of sight. 

Now, pray, don't think I'm getting swift, 
For this, at least, you must allow, 
Whate'er is done with such a gift, 
I've ne'er a chance of seeing — Now. 



50 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



THE ETERNAL QUESTION 

(Reprinted from Stars and Stripes) 
I ain't much worried 'bout them Boche, 
An' worry less about them Turks; 
An' th' Austrians ain't a-doin' much, 
A-judgin' by their works. 

I 'low from readin' papers, 
Seein' what them rulers say, 
They're gettin' tired o' fightin', 
An' we'll all have peace some day. 

Nor I ain't a-feelin' sorry 
'Cause I've lost a blame good pal ; 
An' my heart ain't had no crackin' 
Jus' because o' some durn gal. 

An' th' ol' high cost o' livin' 
Never troubles me no more; 
An' I ain't begun t' worry 
'Bout some job at th' close o' war. 

But they is one pesky question 
That is always puzzlin' me; 
An' they ain't no use in tryin', 
I kaint make it leave me be. 

An' th' doggone cause o' trouble 
That is bringin' all this wail 
Don't take very long in statin' — 
Where in Hell Is All Our Mail? 
5i 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



THOSE WOODEN SHOES 

When the hours of school are ended 
And the kids are homeward bound, 
There's a noise that breaks the silence, 
And the village streets resound 

To the klop — klop — klop of wooden shoes. 

When the bulletin is posted 
And the Frenchmen haste to read, 
You may know there's something doing, 
For you hear them as they speed, 

With the klop — klop — klop of wooden shoes. 

When the peasants' day is over 
And they plod along the street, 
You may know the fields are vacant, 
By the tramp of many feet 

In the klop — klop — klop of wooden shoes. 

Well I know that in the future, 
When I've gone far, far away, 
In my dreams I'll hear a thumping 
Just as plainly as today — 

It's the klop — klop — klop of wooden shoes. 



52 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



THE DAYS OF LONG AGO 

Only a thought at eventide, 
In the warm fire's sprightly glow, 
When memories gather, quick to guide 
To the days of long ago. 

By fancy led, I stray once more 
Where fragrant wild flowers bloom; 
Or hear the water babble o'er 
The stones in a cavern's gloom ; 

Or see the mountains, red and gold, 
When all the forests, gaily grand, 
Are decked in flaming colors bold, 
By lavish autumn's magic hand; 

Or live again each joyous hour, 
When fairy haunted night 
Has cast, with subtle power, 
A charm that lingers bright. 

How oft, indeed, those olden days 
The heart would fain recall, 
When memory, in countless ways, 
Her lustre sheds o'er all. 



53 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



THE ROUGHNECK 

His manner was not at all polished; 

Full rough as the roughest, his way ; 
There wasn't a game with the pasteboards 

He didn't know how to play; 
And words with the smell of brimstone 

Seemed all that he knew how to say. 

His craving was deep for tobacco ; 

He'd take any kind he could get, 
And ask for a chew from the captain, 

Or anyone else that he met; 
And counted his time as wasted, 

If lacking a cigarette. 

His thirst was a thirst appalling; 

His highest ideas of fun 
Were hours all spent in drinking, 

From setting to rising of sun, 
When somehow he got to his billet, 

As drunk as a son-of-a-gun. 

Oh, he was a regular roughneck, 

Nor cared for Society's ban ; 
But he rushed to the thick of the fighting, 

The moment the battle began, 
And fought all the way like a hero — 

Then went to his death like a man. 
54 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



BLESSE 

Gazing down the coming years 

With the foresight of the seers, 
I can see him slowly totter down the street ; 
Pitiful, I watch him go, 

And his back is bending low, 
While each step he takes is made with weary feet. 

"Sir," said I, "I'd like to ask 

By what great, heroic task 
You have earned the row of medals on your breast. 

And the scars upon your face — 

Tell me, is it not the case? — 
Are the marks that you have won in battle's test?" 

And at once he quickly said, 

As he proudly raised his head, 
"All the medals and the scars at which you glance 

Are the proofs I have to show 

Anyone who wants to know, 
That a village barber shaved me once in France." 



55 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



THE OPPORTUNIST 

Ma 'lows I'm shore a sinner, 
An' they ain't no chanct fer me; 
She says I'm bound fer Satan, 
Jest ez straight ez straight kin be. 

Perhaps I ain't a Christyun, 
Fer thinkin' like I do, 
When people's sick an' dyin', 
On account o' Spanish flu. 

But I 'low they ain't nobody 
Who's thinkin' I'm t' blame; 
Ma says they ain't no knowin' how 
This eppydemic came. 

I shore ain't wrong in sayin', 
"If this trouble's got t' come, 
An' it's bringin' me some pleasure, 
What's th' use o' actin' glum?" 

They's one thing mighty certain, 
I ain't nobody's fool, 
T' go around a-poutin' — 
When we ain't a-havin' school. 
56 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



WHEN THE GENERAL CAME TO TOWN 

(Reprinted from Stars and Stripes and Yanks) 

We wuz workin' in th' offus — 
That is, all exceptin' me — 
An' I wuz jest a-settin', 
As a orderly should be, 

When a feller wearin' eagles 
Perchin' on his shoulder straps, 
Poked his head right in th' winder, 
An' he talks right out an' snaps, 

"Who's th' officer commandin' 
Over this detachment here?" 
An' th' looey he salutes him, 
While us rest wuz feelin' queer. 

"I am, sir," th' looey tells him, 
Wonderin' what th' row's about. 
"Pershing's comin' in five minnits," 
Sez th' kernel; "All troops out." 

Gosh, how we did hurry, 
Fer we looked a doggone fright ; 
Some had hats a-missin', 
An' they warn't a coat in sight. 
57 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 

First, we cleaned up in th' offus; 
Then we swep' up in th' street, 
An' it warn't s' many seconds, 
Till th' place wuz hard t' beat. 

Next we hunted up our clothin', 
Borried some, an' swiped some more; 
Then th' looey got us standin' 
In a line afore th' door. 

Mighty soon around th' corner 
Come two scrumtious-lookin' cars; 
An' they wuzn't any license 
On th' first one — 'cept four stars. 

When th' cars had stopped right sudden, 
Then th' gineral he stepped out; 
An' without much parley-vooin', 
He begun t' look about. 

They wuz lots o' darkey soldiers 
What wuz lined up in a row, 
An' he shore looked at 'em careful, 
Walkin' past 'em mighty slow. 

An' th' Frenchmen come a-flockin', 
An' they couldn't understand 
Why he warn't a-wearin' medals — 
An' gold braid t' beat th' band. 
58 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



Then he give a little lecshur, 
Givin' all them Frenchmen thanks, 
Since they'd acted mighty kind-like 
In a-dealin' with his Yanks. 

All th' peepul started clappin', 
When his talk come to a close; 
An' a purty little lassie 
Offered him a dandy rose. 

Shore he tuk it, smilin' pleasant, 
Like a gift he couldn't miss — 
An' th' little maid wuz happy, 
When he paid her with a kiss. 

Then he stepped into his auto, 
An' he hurried on his way — 
While us guys went back t' workin', 
Feelin' we had had SOME day. 



59 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



SERVICE STRIPES 

We have answered the nation's summons, 
We have smiled on the U-boats' threat, 
We have fought and have worked for a pittance, 
And have laughed at the troubles met. 

It was not for an idle glory, 

It was not in the hope of gain, 

That we offered ourselves to our country, 

And gave of our brawn and brain. 

In the cause of an outraged justice, 
We have stood through the fiery test; 
We can face all the world without flinching, 
To say — "We have given our best." 

Then give us the mark we were promised — 
Tho' croakers there are who declare 
The award of a stripe that is golden, 
For service in France is unfair. 



60 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



THE CAUSE OF IT ALL 

Lesh have anuzzher little drink- 
I'm gonna git full azh shin. 
Sthep lively, there — hie— -kiddo, 
Wizh one more leet o' vin. 

I wish I had shome whishky, 
Er shompshin wizh a kick; 
I'm gonna git plumb hoary-eyed, 
An' gonna git there quick. 

If I wazh in zhe trenches, 
Perhapsh I'd — hie — git shot; 
Zhere ain't no ushe in livin' — 
I'd razzher die zhan not. 

I come t' do my duty; 
Zhash more zhan I can shay 
Fer shome o' zhem durn cushes, 
Zhat sthayed in zhe U. Esh A. 

I 'low I shore did pity 
Zhe gal I lef ' behin' ; 
She cried sho mush at partin', 
I thought she'd shore go blin'. 
61 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 

She jesh kep' on repeatin' 
How faithful she'd shore be; 
An' never love no uzzhers, 
While waitin' — hie — fer me. 

But she wuzh only lyin', 
Eash shingle word she shaid; 
She's made my life a r-ruin — 
I'd jesh azh shoon be dead. 

T'day, I got a lehrer, 
Zhat tol' me how she lied; 
She never kep' her promishe — 
She's jesh a schlacker's bride. 



62 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



THEY WENT UP THE LINE WITH A 
SMILE 

'Twas little the village looked like France, 
For there came a ragtime band ; 
And the old world streets were crowded 
With darkeys from Dixie land. 

The music was quickly started, 
But only one piece was through, 
When the pilot car of a camion train 
Whirled 'round the turn into view. 

With the love of his race for music, 
The driver slowed up his machine; 
And a voice from the camion shouted, 
"Looky heah, man, whah d' y'u mean? 

We ah goin' right up t' dem trenches, 
So take up yoh hohns, now, an' blow; 
Foh some of us won't be rethunin' — 
An' give us a tune as we go." 

The instruments all were lifted, 
There wasn't a moment to lose; 
The leader knew just what was wanted, 
And started the "Memphis Blues." 
63 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



Perhaps it wasn't a classic, 
But the notes had a stirring swing; 
And the shouts of the passing soldiers 
Made the streets of the village ring. 

And as long as the train was passing, 
Not once did the music lag; 
For the boys were going to battle, 
And they wanted a Dixie "rag." 

And those of us saw who stood by the road, 
And watched as they passed the while, 
That never a man in the camion train 
But went "up the line" with a smile. 



64 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



THE BATTLE OF BROUVELIEURES 

Against the enemy we marched, 

A goodly hundred strong; 
Of danger not at all we recked, 

But made our way with song; 
And little cared, altho' we knew 

The fight be fierce and long. 

On every side our comrades fell, 
But still we fought and sang; 

Nor felt for those who passed away, 
The slightest sorrow's pang, 

As o'er the din of conflict fierce 
Our cheery voices rang. 

Far in the night the battle raged, 
But still our hope was high, 

For from each dauntless warrior rose 
A clear-toned battle cry, 

That spurred each struggling hero there 
To win the fight — or die. 

But when at last the struggle closed, 
We knew our hope was vain; 

About the field, our hundred lay, 
The wounded and the slain, 

Who gave their all to beat the foe, 
Yet found they made no gain. 
65 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



And when the silence reigned supreme, 
Where once was battle's din, 

The living realized full well 
They ne'er could hope to win 

The old, old struggle man has waged— 
The battle of the "vin." 



66 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



ODE TO THE "BURNED AREA" 

(Some two months after the signing of the 
armistice, several units of Forestry troops were 
moved from their camps in the Eastern Vosges 
to what was known as the "Burned Area," in the 
Department of Landes, some little distance south 
of Bordeaux and near the village of Pontenx les 
Forges. Just why this stand of fire-swept timber, 
with its remarkably light yield of low-grade lum- 
ber, deserved so much attention by American For- 
estry Engineers probably will remain one of the 
mysteries of the war. That the American soldiers 
stationed in the "Burned Area" were thoroughly 
disgusted with the whole affair was neither mys- 
terious nor unnatural.) 

Miles upon miles of dreary sand, 
With the curse of God on the wretched land; 
Cold as the poles in the cheerless night, 
And Satan's own when the sun shines bright; 
A land disdained since time began — 
And a hell of a place to send a man. 

Thousands on thousands of stagnant pools, 
A waste forlorn — nor ghosts nor ghouls, 
Who wander accurst in lonely ways, 
6 7 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



Would stoop so low as to spend their days 
In a spot that bore the devil's ban — 
And a hell of a place to send a man. 

Life with its strength has left no sign, 
Save the stunted growth of blackened pine, 
A witness mute of the struggle lost, 
When destruction raged, and Life paid the 

cost; 
A land unknown in the Deity's plan — 
And a hell of a place to send a man. 

Satan himself has surely sworn 
That hell itself is less forlorn, 
And a better place to spend one's time 
Than in pine and sand and pools of slime, 
Too foul for even the kaiser's clan — 
And a hell of a place to send a man. 



68 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



THE LANDSMAN'S LAMENT 

Now that the warring nations 
Have lain aside their arms, 
And the weary world is silenced 
From the shock of war's alarms, 

There comes a thought of gladness, 
That soon again we'll be 
In the well-beloved homeland, 
Far across the rolling sea. 

Yet the thought of our departure, 
Tho' so roseate be its hue, 
Is not one alone of pleasure, 
For it has its sadness, too. 

In the symphony of gladness, 
There is still a mournful note; 
We must cross the broad Atlantic — 
And we dread the trip by boat. 



69 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



TH' SWEETES' GAL 

Th' gals o' France is purty, 
An' some fellers lose their hearts; 
But it ain't fer them I'm pinin', 
Fer they ain't no Cupid's darts, 
What has caused my heart t' flutter 
Fer a gal in these here parts. 

An' th' gals back home is lovely, 
Which is shorely mighty fine; 
But th' fact o' all their beauty 
Ain't th' smallest bit o' sign 
That they's one o' them a-longin' 
Jes t' hear me call her mine. 

But they shore is one fine lady, 

Jes as fine as fine kin be, 

An' th' sweetes' female critter 

That I ever hope t' see — 

Oh, it's New York way she's callin', 

An' her name's "Miss Libertee/' 



70 



Lyric Leaves from a Khaki Notebook 



LE GRAND DESIR 

Of all the blessings Peace may bring, 

'Tis not the great I crave; 

I have no slightest wish to be 

A vaunting, selfish knave. 

Let others wish for greater wealth, 
Or farms presented free; 
A life content, as once I knew, 
Is good enough for me. 

I ask no city's great acclaim, 

So many highly prize; 

Nor proudest place in great parade, 

The envy of all eyes. 

Nor care I e'en in faint degree, 
For Civil Service task, 
Tho' there I might, with little toil, 
In chieftain's favor bask. 

Of all the blessings Peace may bring, 
For this alone I care — 
Oh, give me back again at once 
The pants I used to wear. 



71 



